


You Are Not Alone

by Thadeus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thadeus/pseuds/Thadeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A serial killer targeting children, and there's something wrong with Patrick Jane. Lots of Jane Whump, and fluffy friendship between him and the team. One-sided Jisbon. Fluffy Jigsby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Not Alone

When Lisbon showed up for work on Thursday, almost the first thing she spotted was Jane, crashed out on the couch, and her vision went red. He hadn't been in all week. Hadn't called. Hadn't let them know that he was okay. She thought maybe he was sick, but he doesn't get sick. On Tuesday, she found him in the attic, but told her to go away, in no uncertain terms, and refused to say anything more. And now he had the gall to just show up, and sleep. Sleep. As if he couldn't have slept the whole week he abandoned them.

Lisbon approached the couch, prepared to rip him to metaphorical shreds, but as she closed in, something stopped her. He was laying, yes asleep – she could hear thin snores between the quiet whimpers, except that he was turned around. His back was to the office, his legs tucked up pulling him into a little ball, his face crammed into the corner.

Odd. He never slept like that. He always slept openly, facing the office, or staring at the ceiling.

Lisbon frowned at the sudden aching feeling that something was wrong. But his breath was even, and he didn't look injured, so she resolved to wait until he awoke before dragging him into an interrogation room.

“He was like that when I got here,” Cho stated, without inflection, from the confines of his desk. The voice sounded emotionless, like Cho had just made a useless statement about the weather, a general nicety, but Lisbon could see the crease of worry on his face.

She sounded a minor noise of thanks, as Rigsby returned from the kitchen, cup of tea in hand. He regarded Jane's sleeping form, and then set the tea down near him. Lisbon gave him a look of question.

Rigsby cleared his throat, shrugged. “He was, uh, I t-think, I mean I could be wrong, but it sounded like he was crying a bit. Earlier.”

Lisbon nodded. Curiouser and curiouser.

She turned toward Grace, who sat at her own desk, flipping through files.

“Any news on the autopsy report?” Lisbon asked, hoping to take the focus away from their wayward colleague. The deceased, Darryl McIntosh, 15, had run away from his middle-class home in Burbank, and ended up dead two weeks later in the forest outside of Barrington, thirty-two miles away. Their best guess was that Darryl was unhappy with his Father's iron fist ruling of the household, and ran away from home, only to end up accepting a ride from the wrong man.

Grace nodded. “Cause of death, stabbing, eighteen times, five times in the chest, and thirteen in the leg and genital area.”

“That's a lot. So it's personal?”

“Maybe not personal to this kid, but definitely to his killer,” Grace agreed, “But there's more.” She paled a little, couldn't look Lisbon in the eye. “There was uh,” she sniffed, cleared her throat, “signs of sexual assault.”

Lisbon nodded, the feel of sick rising in her throat. “Do a check for any transport services, truck drivers that coincide with the route, and the dates of Darryl's disappearance and when his body was found.”

“Take a look through missing persons and other cases, with kids matching Darryl's profile,” Rigsby pipped up, “I have a hunch that maybe this isn't the killers first victim.”

Grace nodded, abandoning her files, and clicking the keys of her keyboard, “On it.”

Jane shuddered, groaned. He pulled away from the back of the couch, rolling to stare at the ceiling. He stretched his body out, not unlike a cat, then yawned and lolled his head sideways. Rigsby, Cho and Lisbon were staring at him. Grace at least, had the decency to stay buried in her computer, not wanting to cause a fuss.

Jane gave them a wide toothy smile, then spotted the teacup nearby. "Oooh, tea!"

"That was me," Rigsby said quickly, "I did that."

Jane swung around, pulling himself to a sit. "Thank you." The tea was cold, but he drank it anyways, for Rigsby's sake, and was rewarded with a pleased smile.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Lisbon stated, with mild sarcasm. "Have a good vacation?"

The smile on Jane's face dropped, but only for a second. "Yes."

Lisbon noticed the falsity in his voice more clearly than the heavy footsteps approaching from behind, and frowned. "Where were you?"

Jane shrugged. And then the smile was gone, his eyes narrowed cast over her shoulder and the corners of his mouth took a sharp, downward turn.

"Hey Paddy."

The graveled voice was new, one that Lisbon didn't recognize, and she turned. The man she came face to face with, was taller than her by a foot, older, with wrinkles and grayed hair. He wore a cleanly pressed suit, no tie, and was clearly uncomfortable in the fancy get-up. He walked forward, passing her, toward Jane.

"What are you doing here?" Jane demanded. The ice rippled through his voice.

The man gave a small, sympathetic smile. "I thought we should talk."

"No, not now, not ever again. Get out of here," Jane's eyes flittered, flashing with shades of panic. Almost scared, bouncing back and forth in pleading to Cho and Rigsby, "Cho, Rigsby, get him out of here."

"Hey now," the mysterious man pleaded, raising both his hands in defense. He was almost within arms reach of Jane. "Talk. Just talk. I promise."

"Rigsby!" Jane yelled, "Please!"

The Please echoed in the room, sliced through the hearts of the team. Jane did not say please, not very often and not without extreme cause.

Rigsby stood, walked toward the man, a hand raised in a placating gesture. "Okay, sir, you're clearly upsetting him, why don't you just-"

The man was too close now, "Paddy..." And laid a hand against Jane's arm. Jane's eyes went wild and he surged up, planting his fist against the man's face. The man stumbled backward, clutching at his nose as Jane ran out of the room.

"Jane!" Lisbon yelled.

Rigsby sputtered, "Aww jeez," and then assisted the man to his feet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the man muttered, waving Rigsby off. "I should have seen that coming."

Lisbon frowned, confused. The man smiled at her. Extended a hand.

"My name is Alex Jane. I'm Patrick's father. Nice to meet you."


End file.
